


Coveralls

by inthemarketplace



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Lawyer Ben Solo, Mechanic Rey, Trapped In Elevator, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 10:17:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13499874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inthemarketplace/pseuds/inthemarketplace
Summary: Rey, a mechanical engineering TA at a local university, doesn’t love the yuppie crowd of senator’s aides and lawyers moving into the neighborhood. When a down power line leaves her momentarily stranded with her lawyer neighbor, Ben, both get a chance to confront their hang-ups about each other.





	Coveralls

**Author's Note:**

> I initially wrote this in like March 2016 but never published it – I’d seen a really beautiful fanart of Reylo stuck in an elevator and ran with it. Anyway, I know this isn’t very original, nor is it very polished, but I had it running through my head and I had to get it out!

Lab days were her favorite, so she should have woken up on time. And yet, somehow, she’d managed to sleep through four alarms and the people next door’s morning shouting routine. She rose with a groan.

She emptied her gym bag on the floor and tossed back in the shoes and granola bar. There wouldn’t be enough time to come home again so she needed to bring her day with her. She scrambled for clean socks and workout clothes, a couple of hours worth of notes to study later, her favorite water bottle, and a sundress. Lab days were her favorite, but this Tuesday had managed to be a lab day, a gym day, and a coffee study day with Finn. It would be, at a minimum, deliciously hectic if not downright chaotic.

She threw on fresh underwear and a mostly fresh bra, and slipped into her favorite coveralls. They had grease stains, paint stains, and bloodstains; burn marks and holes; patches and stitched-together bits. They were her favorite because of how many memories were etched therein, but also because of how she batty looked in them. Especially on days she got to use her welding torch, she looked downright unhinged. It was gratifying to dress up as a mad scientist and get paid for it. Not paid well, but still.

Rey was glad for the mad look when it came to the neighbors. She chuckled to herself, imagining her image as she slipped into a pair of stained half-done-up steel-toed boots, some wild round iridescent sunnies, and enormous headphones for the bow on top. Not likely any of the students at the lab would chat her up looking like this, let alone the people in the building. They weren’t a bad sort—well, most of them weren’t. But there were a few yuppies that of late had taken up rooms in the building. Perhaps it was some sort of rebellion thing. Or because the rent was cheap. But she mistrusted the Georgetown lot trying to make the Highlands into the new Eastern Market. She needed the place to stay affordable, not turn into a cupcake shop. She didn’t mind chatting to the Highlands neighbors, but the suited up commuters trekking up to Capitol Hill or glass palaces downtown weren’t her cup of tea, so she didn’t mind one bit scaring them off with her grease-stained coveralls and steel-toed boots.

 

 

•••

 

 

He’d named her The Blacksmith in his head, the girl from 804 that marched around in grease-stained coveralls.

At first he’d looked forward to the apparent similarities in their schedules: a greeting in the hall, shared rides in the ancient elevator, a chance to hold the door for her. Soon, however, he had noted how little she seemed to enjoy these pleasantries. He had supposed her to be shy as he was, until a day almost two months before when a simple nod from him had been enough to darken her eyes as she chatted to the folks in 822. He avoided her after that, although it made him feel silly. Still, it was worth arriving at work a little less early if it meant that he didn’t glared at in the elevator.

Today was a morning like any other. He noted the clock on the small kitchen’s wall: 8:20. Plenty of time to get to work before he even needed to be there, but late enough that the girl in coveralls from 804 would have already been long gone. He closed the door behind him and locked the deadbolt, walking toward the elevator that would carry him down the eight floors to the city below. He’d quickly become numb to the routine; perhaps that was why he didn’t hear the loud slamming of a door or the quick footfall of a woman in a hurry. He looked down at his phone to check the metro schedule, a force of habit, and didn’t look up again until he had moved into the lift, going to press the G button that was already lit by the woman whose attentions were likewise on her phone.

It was then that he noticed his neighbor in the elevator: the girl from 804.

 

 

•••

 

 

He stared a little before correcting himself, eyes back on the sliding doors rather than her face. She didn’t seem to notice him, eyes down on her phone and headphones covering her ears. 

It wasn’t the worst thing in the world, being disliked by a neighbor. Neither was it some entirely foreign sensation. But that had been building organizations and penthouse squabbles, and some part of him had thought that by removing himself from that world, he would leave behind the petty fights as well. He ought to have known better than to assume he wasn’t a factor in the communal turbulence. He cursed inwardly at the slowness of the elevator; it seemed to be mocking him by trapping him in a box with a woman who wanted nothing but to be rid of him, though for her part, she still hadn’t looked up from her phone. 

But suddenly, the lift gave a jolt and, with another uneasy lurch, it stopped.

 

 

•••

 

 

That was enough to get her attention.

She looked up and their eyes met instinctively in fear followed by a light recognition.

“Is it—” she began, arms braced against the side of the lift, not overly eager to find out either way.

“I don’t know.”

A few beats. A few more. The light in the ceiling of the elevator flickered, and then went out. 

“It—it doesn’t seem to be moving any more,” he offered into the darkness.

“No, I don’t think it—hang on,” and she returned to the phone she’d neglected, the screen briefly illuminating her face as she took a call, “yeah. Mmhmm. Finn, slow down. Yeah, just like last month, fucking thing. Well it doesn’t matter much—yeah, well, who are you?” she asked and, realizing what she meant provided his name. “Yeah, Ben, he says. Elevator in my building, cause why wouldn’t it. Yeah, I will. Ok, keep me posted.” She let the screen go off and they were again flooded in darkness. “Power line’s down,” she said, sounding rather unconcerned. He wondered if she was really so calm. She wondered if she’d miss the bus. She decided she probably would. “Happened last June too. You here then?” It seemed about as good an opening as he was going to get.

“No, I moved in October—”

“Mm.”

 

They sat a full minute in the dark silence before he resolved to break it. 

“So, what, are you a mechanic?”

“Hm?”

“The um, the coveralls, sorry I—well, we’re stuck here so I thought…”

“Oh,” she breathed out, “yeah, well, I TA at George Washington. Mechanical engineering. Today’s a lab day, so…” she paused, then added, “I love lab days.”

“Cool,” he said weakly, hoping to God he could keep her talking.

“Yeah, it’s nice to be able to show 19 year olds how to weld and call it day. Last week the prof almost caught his hair on fire. Good show.” He turned an abandoned laugh into a short cough and she continued, “if I stay in DC… most of the people I know end up in government contracting so, less hair on fire. Gotta have my fun now,” she shrugged, hoping she didn’t sound too insane.

He failed to stifle a snort, “I guess so.”

 

A few minutes. A few more. It continued much the same, brief conversation that ebbed and flowed. After a while, her cell rang again. In its illumination, she saw they’d both elected to sit down, her bag tossed to the side, his briefcase planted next to the wall. She hadn’t much thought of it in the darkness, but now it struck her just how close she’d sat next to him. The lift wasn’t large but her knees must have been nearly touching his. She wondered if he’d noticed the proximity, if he’d—but God! He _was_ looking at her strangely, like if his eyes bored into hers deeply enough he might be able to read her thoughts. She tried not to stare into his dark eyes as she heard her friend’s voice over the call. “Yeah, ok. No, I’m fine. Yep. Ok, bye,” she finished the call, more than a little distracted by how intently he watched her in the dim bluish light of the screen.

“Any update?”

“Nah, they’re still trying to get the fucking thing back up, looks like it’ll be a bit longer,” she said as she let the screen fade back to black.

He felt surer of himself under the cover of darkness. “I don’t mind,” he offered tenuously into the stillness of the lift, and was met with silence.

This wouldn’t do. In the darkness all she could think of was the curves of his face as he’d watched her. A few beats. A few more. She needed to fill the silence.

 

“So what do you do?”

It was a simple enough question, but he worried that any progress they’d made would be immediately unraveled if he answered truthfully. In his experience, people really didn’t like lawyers. Even clients tended to be cagey about the profession, and he doubted the down-to-earth woman before him would receive his chosen career with admiration. He breathed in, thankful that at least she didn’t have a blowtorch with him, then chided himself inwardly at the though. She might not have been fond of him, but what was that? She didn’t owe him her good opinion. Resigned, he answered the question to which he’d already been far too long in responding.

“I work at FO Law, the defense firm by Logan Circle,” he said reluctantly and in the silence he could almost feel as she raised an eyebrow, “I know, lawyers right? Might as well be a criminal myself and all that,” he continued acerbically. Both her brows went up at this, and it was just as well he couldn’t see her—he hardly would have been encouraged by the look of incredulity on her face. 

“Hey man, I don’t have a problem with lawyers; it’s literally a constitutional right. I’m not a fascist, Jesus Fucking Christ,” she said growing agitated. 

“What then?”

“I mean, I’m registered a democrat...”

“No, I…” he struggled for a second before clumsily finding the words. “Why do you seem so…” he almost trailed off before finishing the awkward question, “opposed to me?”

“What?” 

“It’s not—I mean it’s fine, I just,” and he wondered why he’d been so keen to bring up such a vague accusation. Opposed to him? Why would she feel strongly about him at all? She’d given no indication today that she registered his overall existence, let alone that he had made the top of some imaginary enemies list. But, despite himself, he continued, badly, “you seem like you really don’t like me?”

“Man, I don’t know you,” she said, guards going back up.

“Then why are you so hostile?”

“Oh,” her reply quiet and withdrawn, much more so than her sunshine-disposition would make likely. “I—I’m sorry. I just thought—suits are normally here on some kind of mission or something. Remake the world in their image, y’know? I don’t know… I shouldn’t have…” she trailed off, but tried to start again, “I mean, I don’t know you, so I guess I shouldn’t have, you know…”

“No, it’s… really it’s fine. I’m here because… because I…” his lack of eloquence made him glad for the cloak of darkness.

“I was 19 and stupid and I—it doesn’t matter. I’ve got loans and I could ask for help but—I just can’t bring myself to do it. That probably sounds like the most pretentious thing, I know, but—”

“No, I get it,” she said. Surprised, he looked up: vainly trying to see her face, to judge her expression, to know where they stood. “Sometimes being on your own is just—well it’s safer than needing people who never show up.”

He wished he could see her face.

“I guess I just got used to being alone,” he said. He heard movement to his right, as if she was positioning herself for a better angle at him.

“I did too. I mean I have people at work but I just… it’s not the same thing,” she said. The wavering in her voice felt like sadness; he wanted to comfort her.

“Seems like you love what you do though, that’s got to help?”

“Yeah, it does. You?”

“Hm?”

“Do you love it? Is it worth it?”

“I—”

 

It should be a simple answer. How many years had he poured into it? How many times had he defended his decisions?

“When I was younger I wanted to work for JCLA, you know, the civil rights firm? I almost submitted an application to their DC office once. I had all these dreams of sticking up for the little guy, making the world a better place—”

“Maybe you still can,” she said.

“Maybe, but—”

“But what?”

“But—I don’t know, it’s—well it’s hard to change this late in the game, I—what?” he interrupted himself, not meaning to sound so harsh but confused by her sudden outburst of sniggering.

“Sorry, I just didn’t realize you were so old! God, what a tragedy to be so ancient. Maybe you should just head into your crypt and call it a day,” she laughed mercilessly.

“Well what am I supposed to do? Just wake up one day and decide to change my life? It’s not that easy! It takes time and resources and help and… and… and I don’t have anybody,” he finished, wincing at the whine in his voice.

 

A few beats. A few more.

 

“Ben?” her voice was soft and searching.

“Hm?” he didn’t trust himself to speak.

“You’re not alone.”

“Neither are you,” he said without thinking. He wished instantly he could take it back. She’d been trying to help him, hadn’t been asking him for comfort, and he was certainly not—but what was this? For in that moment he felt a small hand against his arm.

“Ben?”

“Hm?”

 “Thank you,” she almost whispered.

“Of course. Thank you,” he replied. 

She moved closer. She wondered if he could feel the same pull she felt. She closed the last distance between them, a hand reaching tenuously out to trail the side of his face. It wasn’t pitch-black in the lift, although it was close, but she was near enough now that he could dimly see the outline of her eyes searching for his.

Bringing his lips to hers, he kissed her. In the darkness, his arm went out to wrap around her side, bringing her closer as she locked her wrists around his neck.

 

And the ancient lift lurched to the right, throwing her even further into his arms. But it was a blessing soon to be cut short, for, after their cries of shock, they began again the downward descent to street level, lights flickering on to illuminate the flustered passengers.

 

“Shit, I’m so late.”

 

She righted herself, looking hurriedly at her watch and pulling away from him. He straightened his jacket as she picked up the bag she’d discarded long ago. Too soon, the doors slid open.

“See you around, Ben,” she said with a smile over her shoulder. Stunned, he watched as she sauntered off down Minnesota, too engrossed to notice the impatient doors that, closing, moved to block his view of the girl from 804.

 

 

•••

 

 

He kept thinking he’d see her in the hallway. That he’d have a chance to explain himself, to tell her how much it had meant that she’d listened, really listened, to him. But he didn’t. See her in the hallway, that is. And after the sixth day of not seeing her, he decided to do something drastic. That evening, when he got home from the slog of wading through FO Law’s nonsense, he did something he swore he’d never do again. He opened up his computer, and, finding the homepage of the Justice and Civil Law Association, he clicked “Apply for Positions.” Maybe he’d never see the girl in 804 again (a desperate thought) but at least he could make a change for himself that was long overdue. He believed in the work that he did, but he couldn’t keep doing it for that bastard Snoke: it was tearing him apart.

 

 

•••

 

 

Lab days were her favorite. She woke up a full ten minutes before the bell on her alarm called for the start of the day. Today was a simple day. Lab, lunch, and then whatever she wanted. She hummed to herself as she pulled on the well-worn coveralls. She almost skipped out the door, cheerfully making her way to the rickety elevator down the hall. 

“Can you hold it?” she heard a shout coming from around the corner opposite from which she came. She moves to catch the closing door as another hand meets hers

“Thanks, I—” but he didn’t finish the thought, because he realized as he gained entrance to the lift that the woman he was facing was the girl from 804.

“Oh,” he said, not meaning to sound so breathless, although he _had_ run to catch the elevator so there really was no cause for such censure as he directed at the sound of his own voice. He tried unsuccessfully to remove the wondrous look he was sure was caught in his eyes.

She managed an over-enthusiastic “Hey” that was mumblingly returned, as Ben directed his increasing mortification into an examination of his shoes. They stood in silence as the doors closed, and the slow descent of the lift began. Rey fixed her gaze ahead of her, building determination, and was just about to speak when Ben volunteered:

 

“I put in my application this morning.”

“Oh?”

He realized then how insufficient an opener this was. Perhaps the girl in the coveralls did not even remember him. He started to clear his throat but it turned into a cough. A faint pink grew steadily stronger on his ears.

“For JCLA,” he began again, “I—I thought about what you said. Last week, when we were—”

Her hands went to the pockets of her grease-stained coveralls. A faint smile grew on her mouth.

 “Yeah, I remember. Congrats, man.” 

So she did remember. But he was back to being ‘man.’ _God_. He’d been a fool to think a brief encounter would have miraculously made them into lovers. He’d kissed her: they hadn’t gotten fucking married. He continued in scrutiny of his folly the rest of the rickety ride down. He turned to look at her as the lift let open the doors at the ground floor.

 

“Here,” she said handing him a folded piece of paper with a smile, “you seemed a bit too in your head to ask.” His raised brow and gaping mouth must have betrayed how confounded he was, and yet she walked on. Turning back she called out “Call me, yeah?” before spinning round again, and walking on her way with a dance in her step. Ben looked down at the paper she’d handed him. Torn at one edge, it was lined and dotted with butterflies at the bottom: a repurposed shopping list she’d grabbed last minute. He opened the note along the fold and looked at the neat writing. Ten numbers, followed by three letters conjoined in an even hand. He didn’t notice the elevator doors closing as he breathed out the name with which she’d left him: _Rey_.

 


End file.
